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THE RUINS OF ROME.
And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
LXXXV. - THE RUINS OF ROME.
O, Rome! my country! city of the soul !
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones, and temples, ye,
Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe;
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchers lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire,
Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride; They saw her glories star by star expire,
And, up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride
Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void ?
The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day
Her resurrection ; all beside - decay.
LXXXVI. - TASSO'S CORONATION.
FOR TWO SPEAKERS. The tone of the First is loud, animated, and exultant ; that of the Second,
mournful and measured.
FIRST SPEAKER. A TRUMPET's note is in the sky, in the glorious Roman sky, Whose dome hath rung, so many an age, to the voice of victory; There is crowding to the capitol, the imperial streets along, For again a conqueror must be crowned, — a kingly child of song!
flowers, To scatter o'er his path of fame bright hues in gem-like showers.
Cicero, whose first names were Marcus Tullius, is thus sometimes called in English.
Tasso died at Romo (1595) on the day before that appointed for his cora nation in the capitol.
Peace! within his chamber
Sing, sing for him, the lord of song, for him, whose rushing strain In mastery o'er the spirit sweeps, like a strong wind o'er the
main ! Whose voice lives deep in burning hearts, for ever there to dwell, As full-toned oracles are shrined in a temple’s holiest cell.
The sun, the sun of Italy is pouring o'er his way,
day; Streaming through every haughty arch of the Cæsar's past Bring forth, in that exulting light, the conqueror for his crown!
Shut the proud bright sunshine
The wreath is twined, the way is strown, the lordly train are
met, The streets are hung with coronals — why stays the minstrel yet? Shout! as an army shouts in joy around a royal chief Bring forth the bard of chivalry, the bard of love and grief!
Silence! forth we bring him,
LXXXVII. — THE WAR SONG OF DINAS VAUR
The mountain sheep are sweeter,
But the valley sheep are fatter;
To carry off the latter!
We met a host, and quelled it;
And killed the men who held it.
Where herds of kine were browsing,
To furnish our carousing.
We met them and o'erthrew them ;
But we conquered them and slew them.
The king marched out to catch us
But his people could not match us.
And e'er our force we led off,
While others cut his head off.
Spilt blood enough to swim in ;
And widowed many women.
We glutted with our foemen;
and the bowmen.
And much the land bemoaned them -
And the head of him who owned them :
His head was borne before us,
His overthrow, our chorus.
ARON. THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE.
LXXXVIII. - THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE
The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride;
At the fifth stanza the speaker's delivery should become louder and more rapid. The young chieftain's summons (seventh stanza) should be loud, bold, and stirring. There is opportunity for several effective changes of intonation in this piece.